reframe » My Personal Journey

Return to Oz

admin — Sat, 31 Jan 2009 09:29:00 +0000

I landed in Sydney at five p.m. on Christmas Day. Deep within my bones, a hunger, which had lain dormant for months, was given unrelenting voice. My stare became a search as eyes drew in every possible ray of light- which seemed to fall brighter and bluer from the broad Australian sky. In the first quiet moments, standing in front of the unusually still, Eucalypt-ringed airport, winter was forgotten and I was welcomed home. There is a universal homecoming experience, and then, there is coming home for Australians- we who’ve lived long from our far-flung island home.

I like to jest that Aussie’s need to recharge every year or so, returning to a land where life is lived in accord, prosperity and unrivaled natural quality- to reset our guides on what is important, replenish that which we have given or the world has taken from us, and finally get some decent asian food. And from this deep place within me, this place that I only let myself listen to when my feet are moments from my native soil, it is all utterly true. An important part of my psyche needs this return, this clarity and this space, and in the final days of 2008 this need was paramount.

2008 was a indeed blessing. Two months traveling across Argentina and Brazil, a beautiful relationship and a parting of ways, beginning with a new organisation and a new bar for learning, the opportunity and challenge of again leading a team of brilliant minds and now managing a studio. I experienced extremes of profound insight and reflection and acute dissatisfaction and entanglement that have left me indelibly marked and already set new directions in what has been made of 2009. And after this year, I knew I needed to take stock back in Australia, to genuinely reconnect with my family and friends, to again dwell long in places that had raised me, to step outside of life’s waterfall for some moments and choose which river will next carry me forward.

It was all of these things, and more. I surfed at Manly every second day, saw Test Cricket at the SCG, took beers by the Opera House, had meaningful discussions with truly wonderful people- relations old and new. But when I sat again on the long flights back to Amsterdam- what struck me most was the time I’d spent forging meaning relationships with my family; playing golf with Dad, seeing a Monet exhibition with Mum, and taking Tilly to a music festival on a gorgeous Sunday afternoon. It was these moments, and all the collective dinners and late evening discussions, that made the 34,000 kilometres unquestionably worthwhile- and made it easy to leave once again, upon this journey that knows no end.

Reflections on a Mountain Lake

admin — Mon, 01 Dec 2008 23:03:00 +0000

There are conversations that you know will echo in the records of your personal history, if not the pages of some broader text. One such conversation that is marked indelibly in my reflections took place in the spring of 2005, at the mountain lake of Ochrid, Macedonia. Perched on the wall of a five-hundred year old monastery, Tom Weaver, Brodie Boland and I took a break from the conference we were orchestrating to connect in the tangible stillness of the afternoon. Brodie and I were completing our term together as Directors of Eastern and Western Europe, respectively, and Tom had taken a break from his career, designing the future of schooling across the UK, to chair our leadership summit.

It wasn’t so much the conversation, although it was as far reaching and honest a trialogue as any, as it was the meeting of the three of us upon this rare mountain lake, at a tipping point in each of our individual journeys. We were young and powerful with much to be proud of, yet humbled by this place, by each other’s presence, and the most distinct feeling that whatever unfolded from this moment would be marked with the challenge and call that names history.

The image of those mountains towering above the water in the distance, the confidence and trust we shared, the laughter, insight and ability; these will be defining pieces of my youth. In our best of times, we may look back on them lightly, but in the cyclical moments of darkness I do not underrate how important such experiences were in helping me find the light.

Tom continued his career at the cutting edge of designing learning environments through ever larger enterprises and now has taken the entrepreneurial leap. He has also launched a phenomenal blog that puts my Codex to shame. Brodie went on to lead our organisation, join a strategy consultancy and soon enough will take an academic turn, in the whichever premier graduate institution is lucky enough to earn him. He, of course, uses his blog Kyosaku to help us realise and release.

Time for Philosophers

admin — Wed, 07 May 2008 09:26:00 +0000

Travelling to work on this particularly sunny spring morning, I faced the sudden realisation that I was a “Block Universe” theorist. I felt mostly the same; my jaw was still unshaven and belly not uncommonly empty, but now, in this short mater of seconds my ideas were no longer my own and I could be labelled as a a mere member of the eternalist cadre.

Such is the danger of the podcast in the modern age (given that podcasts in all previous ages were no problem whatsoever). One may wake up an honest man- ideas of his own making- and return to the very same bed, a non-reductive physico- Kuhnian -psychoexistentialist, with troublingly liberal, anti-historicist tendencies. I might dare to think that this is all just names, but then suddenly this makes me either a staunch logical positivist or belong to any number of post-modern genera, and I’m stuck in a universe factory.

Today’s realisation came about because of a podcast on the nature of time, from the ABC’s Philosophers Zone. The discussion took place with Dr David Braddon-Mitchell, who was a philosophy professor of mine at the University of Sydney.

Dr D. B-M: “…the block universe (view) says that all of space and time is one ginormous, eternal thing, and it has parts which are temporal parts, if you like. So the moment that we’re in now, is one of the parts, there are lots of future parts, all of which exist, and lots of past parts, all of which exist. So this is the Yes, it’s all there view, that’s the eternalist view.”

I like this view of everything existing as a timeless whole. When combined with ideas emerging from quantum physics suggesting that there is only one kind of stuff, we get a picture that is not unlike the views of some ancient monist philosophers. When one tries to add/reduce consciousness into the picture the ontological (simply, what is) picture gets really interesting.

At the close of the programme, the host, Alan Saunders, read beautifully from T.S. Eliot’s Burnt Norton.

Time present and time past
Are both perhaps present in time future,
And time future contained in time past.
If all time is eternally present
All time is unredeemable.
What might have been is an abstraction
Remaining a perpetual possibility
Only in a world of speculation.
What might have been and what has been
Point to one end, which is always present.
Footfalls echo in the memory
Down the passage which we did not take
Towards the door we never opened
Into the rose-garden.

Burnt Norton, T.S. Eliot

The full programme can be downloaded from the Philosophers Zone website for a short time.

Darkness in Bahia

admin — Thu, 21 Feb 2008 16:39:00 +0000

Fade from black.

A vague awareness of sweat soaked fabric wrapping my body drifts into view. It must be sometime in the afternoon by now. I’m in Trancoso- no.. now it’s Arrial D’Ajuda. My body craves water. It must be three already. What time did we finish? Flashes of the hour long morning walk back along the beaches roll past, we arrived just in time for breakfast. Ah breakfast, hence the corn flakes I feel among the bedsheets. A momentary reflection upon my terribleness and then.. it was a wonderful party. A hundred people along the beach, with a huge moon filling the sky and the sea, the air thick with music, laughter and a sub-tropical humidity. I might just be able to open my eyes. Then shower. It would bring sweet relief from all this sweaty fabric. And thank God for this ceiling fan. The symphony of it’s ticking and whiring emerges, rhythms ever changing. Kept the mosquitos away too. Mosquitos! Tens of bites, old and new, compete for my attention. Itch. Itch. I roll onto my side, forget again and find relief. To do? What to do? To stay again or continue the northward journey? Days are slipping so quickly, they feel almost stolen. It’s already the full moon. Ah, the full moon. Maybe I should go back to Trancoso, for a celebration? Who told me? Which of these casual acquaintances upon the road was it? Too many voices, but I’m fairly sure. Hmm Trancoso again. Different to this place. Arrial is such a tourist village- even one day here is enough to read that. Big with the Israelis, menu’s in Hebrew! A smile. Then memories of a less than pleasant run in with some impolite Israelis guys flashes into view. Probably just out the freaking army. Poor bastards… The quiet of Trancoso takes over again, the sound of a silient summer night, high above the beach. An hour away and who knows if anyone is still there? A million other doubts arise. Then a stronger voice, Eleven Days Arthur. Eleven. I should go.

Five hours later. Half watching my reflection, half gazing into the night landscape of Bahia I stare into the window as this empty bus winds towards Trancoso. The shadows of palm trees on the open sky rush by. Suddenly I realise where I am on this planet. Somewhere in north-eastern Brazil an Australian man is bridging the darkness between two towns, no bags, nothing except a little cash, water, sunscreen and insect repellent. Solution to most problems here. Again the realisation of where I am, and deeper. And what for? Decisions I suppose- the only way is to keep making the narrative as I go. Wake up one morning or another with a gut feeling that it’s time to move, a hunger for another place that you never knew and another chapter is added to this story and strangely enough the themes seem to play out just right. So now Trancoso and now Brazil. And this time to think. The days become full of sun and music and food and people and reading and trying a little more language here and there, yet it seems like there’s no time, no really good time, to think. But here in the buses, in the darkness, it’s just me and the rushing of Bahia, and it all comes so easy. So free.

The end of ABN Amro

admin — Wed, 31 Oct 2007 08:56:00 +0000

I don’t often blog about my current employer, ABN Amro. In fact, the only previous post regarded a giant inflatable whale and our funding/sustainability dilemma over Shell’s Sakhalin-II project- a dilemma which was fortuitously removed when Russia’s Gazprom took over the project in Dec 2006. Since then of course there has been a great deal happening here. For those outside the industry, the 183 year old ABN AMRO, ranked eigth in Europe and 13th in the world, with more than 4,500 branches in 53 countries, a staff of over 110,000 and total assets of €999 billion, has been bought out by a consortium of three multinational banks in what amounted to the largest ever bank takeover in history.

The Consortium (Royal Bank of Scotland, Fortis, Santander) were successful in outbidding Barclays (eventually offering $98.3bn including $92.1bn in cash), in a six-month long game of economic, legal and regulatory chess, reminiscent of Burrough and Helyar’s Barbarians at the Gate. Much can be said on the dangers and opportunities of this move; the complex financial, labor and social ramifications that will unfold. Speculation at this early stage is merely that, speculation. And the biggest lesson I’ve had in watching this process, has been in seeing the common-wisdom change every week; a new set of “obvious” assumptions adopted to replace the old set- equally “obvious” and equally inadequate in predicting what will really occur. We need too look to actions, to decisions made, policies changed, businesses, positions and markets opened and closed. Until then we can only speculate on all possibilities and preclude nothing. The real game will play out over the next few years to decide whether we have witnessed an evolution in the market or a disaster in the making.

Whichever course is taken by the new owners, something important will be lost with the passing of ABN Amro. Last night I went to the farewell of a close colleague of mine, Jan Versteeg, who has been with the Bank for thirty-six years. There are a surprising number of life-long employees here- individuals who have given decades, given their life’s work, to ABN Amro. They form a great intangible, non-tradable asset, a spirit of trust and loyalty that I’m glad to see is largely mirrored in their treatment by the organisation. It is a common spirit that forms the very heart of this Bank’s identity, a commitment and a belief that has supported it’s growth and expansion over the centuries. Jan’s leaving fittingly symbolises the passing of this spirit and the end of the essence of ABN Amro itself.

Reflections over Istanbul

admin — Mon, 17 Sep 2007 14:29:00 +0000

“As my previous exclamation suggested I have been away from Amsterdam once more. Even now I can close my eyes and the rich wet canals and the full green leaves fade and are quickly replace by the expanse that is Istanbul. The city was nothing as I had thought. My frame of reference was inaccurately assumed from my experiences of Cairo- another titan of a city. However, my first three days around the European side gave me an impression that was more Parisian than Cairene.”

Click for the full piece “Reflections over Istanbul“.

First Passed the Post

admin — Mon, 13 Aug 2007 15:11:00 +0000

ARTHUR (V.O.)
People were always asking me, did I know Tom Gara.

TOM: yo
ARTHUR : yo. way to be online at the same time.
TOM: its almost as if we are using the internet to facilitate some kind of “chat”. i reckon there’s a business model in this
ARTHUR : nah man.. i figure most people want to chat about rolling that old timey steel wheel down a road. and on the internet its just not the same.

ARTHUR (V.O.)
Wait. Back up. Let me start earlier… You wake up in Egypt…

TOM: i had an awesome glimpse into writer life today. Went and interviewed this analyst from TNS.
ARTHUR: whats TNS?
TOM: Big finance/global trade kinda thinktank/research group he’s based in singapore and is responsible for all their emerging market stuff and just talked to him for like 2 hours about the rise of asia and what it means for africa and the middle east it was this totally awesome fun conversation with a genius that i would have gladly enjoyed doing in my spare time..
ARTHUR: freakin awesome…
TOM: In fact, that is what i would like to do with spare time except it was my job.

ARTHUR (V.O.)
You wake up in Sydney. You wake up in Ireland. You wake up in Sri Lanka. You wake up in Amsterdam… The list goes on. But the story is the same..

Two or three gentleman sit near the bar in a room of a thousand conversations. Introductions, polite enquiries, mispronounced “cultural” greetings fill the air- but not at this table. These men sip a fine beverage, savouring it against a myriad of beers from a myriad of bars/breweries/cities. Their discussion is different- but always the same.

ARTHUR (mid sentence): …which will make all the difference upon the way, yeah?
TOM: Fundamentally.
ARTHUR: Fundamentally.. So anyway what’s the story with you man?
TOM: Still the Middle East thing, if I can work it out. Obviously Egypt. Ideally journalism, but whatever it takes to get there. I can do the marketing thing if I need cash/money for a while- in Saudi or whatever- but whatever it takes to get writing for a living really.

ARTHUR (V.O.)
I think this is about where we came in.

“This month’s Business Today Egypt magazine has my first ever cover story, which I am way happy with – it talks shit about new age garbage, name checks Machiavelli and Sun Tzu, quotes Taoist poetry and mentions hash smoking in its second sentence. Plus, it has as sexy a cover as any business magazine you will see this month. Check it out…“

“A Different Drummer” – Tom Gara’s Blog. 07/08/07

ARTHUR (V.O.)
Let me tell you a little bit about Tom Gara

So without much fanfare a major vision was actualised. Cover story, major publication in a “hot” region, ancient wisdom translated to engage and challenge society. One year after leaving AIESEC International. Freaking brilliant. But that’s a phrase you’ll get used to, knowing Tom.

Congratulations brother, from everyone who every sat at the table and dared to dream. Keep blazing the trail. One love. Peace.

FADE TO BLACK
End

AI Transition: Two-Years On

admin — Tue, 24 Jul 2007 11:00:00 +0000

“Keep the glass topped up, it’s not over just yet
Pull off the social bluff, celebrate your success
Turn the sunlight out, find a place in the shade
If you measure the world by the mark that you make.”

- The Metre, Powderfinger

I returned late Sunday night from the AIESEC International 06-08 Transition Weekend. On one level this weekend is the handover of responsibility between management teams, on another it marks two distinct milestones in the journeys of forty-five of the world’s most remarkable young people. For the outgoing members it is the end of the most intellectually, physically and emotionally intense year that most of us will ever experience. For the incoming members, it is the dream-like beginning to a journey that they simply cannot fathom.

To stand in the midst of the 06-08 celebrations was to be in a memory that was almost my own. Two years ago, I stood arm-in-arm with my team, AI 04-05, sharing our final bows together. We were overflowing with the happiness of finishing well, the liberation and anticipation over what will come next, the sadness of knowing that we will now be spread across the globe and that these days of infinite possibility will all to quickly become fond memories.

Two years later another group of young people were sharing these experiences, trying to unravel their plans for the future, celebrating together and handing something precious to a new group- something they had carried close to their heart for the longest twelve-months of their life. It was beautiful to watch all this once more- but now from the outside- as an alumni and friend.

Returning to this space brought powerful reminiscence and reflection of the way that has passed since I completed my role as Director of Western Europe and North America. Here I was called to look at myself with younger eyes, to judge the self with these older expectations and listen to a voice that had hidden in memories too close to hear. I could not have understood the challenges and pitfalls that I would encounter, but neither could I have comprehended the understanding and insight that has been gained through times both dark and light. Finally, the knowledge that the way has been furthered and the direction remains true let me return this judgement of my previous self with a knowing smile, a deeper sense of peace and another degree of closure on this important part of my history.

Many thanks to AI 06-08 for this opportunity, and for all those of who have been inside AIESEC, who have lived and wrestled with it’s very core, I wish you well upon your way in this beautiful struggle.

The Gift

admin — Wed, 06 Jun 2007 09:42:00 +0000

The next sunrise shall find me in a plane headed to Cairo. Two years after the memorable Holiday of Justice- Brodie, Tom and I are again convening in Egypt. Since our last trip, Brodie has been PAI, trained at a Zen monastery and now McKinzies eagerly awaits his arrival. Gara has transcended us all; after AI he returned to his Cairo as a full-blown, real world journalist writing for a Middle Eastern news magazine of high repute.

With me I shall bring two others who I’ve recently grown fond of- the Sufi poets Rumi and Hafez. I can imagine no finer backdrop by which to read their masterful expressions than the open desert sky.

Rumi is a 13th century Sufi poet- an Tajik-Persian author who has been very influential and popular in and out of the Islamic world. The poem I posted yesterday is a great example of the form; a beautifully emotive and revealing expression of the human struggle with a zen-like brevity. Hafez was a recent surprise to me. On Friday I was given The Gift by a bookmaster at a wonderful store here in Amsterdam. “The Gift” is a collection (a divan) of Hafez’s poetry that has been completely enthralling me over the past week. From the first poem that I opened randomly in the store I was awestruck. These are the words of a 14th century Persian poet and Sufi mystic.

STOP BEING SO RELIGIOUS

What
Do sad people have in
Common?

It seems
They have all built a shrine
To the past

And often go there
And do a strange wail and
Worship.

What is the beginning of
Happiness?

It is to stop being
So religious

That.

- Hafez (خواجه شمس‌الدین محمد حافظ شیراز).

The bookmaster spoke to me of savouring Hafez; of supping upon each poem, gnawing upon it’s bones and sucking the very marrow of it’s spirit, delighting in each sweet whisper.. and laugh… and gentle nod. The Gift was bound and offered, I bowed and took it with both hands in full gratitude.

Much of life is spent thinking back happily upon experiences like that which will unfold over the next six days. I cannot imagine any four greater souls to be journeying with. Such brothers in whom I constantly finding and losing the thousand fragments of my self.

An Interlocking Rubaiyat in Celebration of Platform Staff in General and London Victoria in Particular in the Spirit of a Monist Metaphysic

admin — Fri, 23 Mar 2007 14:41:00 +0000

Sitting on a train, with the Ethics on my mind.
Spent hours scoping out Spinoza, and trying hard to find
How consciousness and matter can so manifest
In such a single Substance, all things of one kind.

Stepping from my day dream, fleeting passed the rest.
My station has approached, so I reason that it’s best
To alight unto the platform, where shortly it’s laid bare
“My bag and laptop left me”, to the Monos I confessed.

I rush to Platform Staff, and to these best of Men I share,
“My most necessary possessions to Victoria will fare”.
Alarmed they race to radio a colleague down the line
No hopes they give, nor promises, yet act in utmost care.

The minutes pass and hope falls flat, but curse no luck of mine
Knowing full determinism, to fate I must resign.
At last a call, a railway man- my laptop he did find.
From”Deus sive Natura“through these such Men doth shine.

______________________________________________________________

Commentary on “An Interlocking Rubaiyat in Celebration of Platform Staff in General and London Victoria in Particular in the Spirit of a Monist Metaphysic“.

1- In case it wasn’t clear, thank you thank you thank you for returning my laptop, thus saving me from having to fall into a fetal position and give up all efforts concerning written language.
2- I guarantee this is the only Spinoza-themed customer feedback form that South West Trains has ever received.
3- One of my favourite pieces in The Onion, “I Could Write A Better Rubaiyat Than That Khayyam Dips:^t“. Ahh, rubai humour.
4- Watch out for me in bars; “Anyone here written a freaking rubaiyat? I wrote one once… Mighty fine set of quatrains that was…”